


Darling, Let's Hurt Tonight

by burninghoneyatdusk



Series: t100 Fic for BLM Prompts [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Professor Bellamy Blake, Protectiveness, Reporter Clarke Griffin, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: After six years together and three years of marriage, Bellamy knows one thing: his wife does and gets what she wants. Bellamy has always loved that side of her, but when her job as a reporter puts her in harm's way, and while pregnant no less, he's forced to finally put his foot down.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: t100 Fic for BLM Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784740
Comments: 43
Kudos: 348
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Darling, Let's Hurt Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [revolutionishere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionishere/gifts).



> This fic was written as part of the Bellarke Writers for Black Lives Matter Initiative, in which myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. Non-bellarke writers are also participating and no amount is too small - read about all the options on the [tumblr page](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com).
> 
> Prompt for this story:
> 
> Modern AU, Rated E, Married Bellarke: A pregnant & stubborn Clarke is constantly putting herself in danger due to the nature of her job (investigative journalist, activist, you pick!) & Bellamy gets super protective & angry because of it. They fight constantly & it begins to heavily affect other aspects of their marriage but at some point something happens to Clarke where she gets hurt/attacked/kidnapped and a smutty and angsty love-you-so-much-please-never-do-that-to-me ever-again reunion ensues.
> 
> **Trigger Warning: Mention of Police Brutality**
> 
> Fic title is from the song 'Let's Hurt Tonight' by OneRepublic.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

Bellamy is trying to stay calm. He is, he  _ has _ been, but his patience is at an all time low. 

Leaning against their bedroom door frame, he watches his wife rummage through their closet for a shirt to wear. She’s wearing only a plain black bra and a pair of jeggings that despite their stretchy waistband, will soon be too small to hold her ever-growing bump. At five months pregnant, Clarke is entering the phase where she can no longer hide her bump under a flowy shirt or dress. Which Bellamy kind of loves - there’s something about watching her grow their child which fills him with an indescribable warmth. It’s this surge of affection that causes him to take a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever Clarke’s excuse will be.

“Of course, I’m serious. It’s my career, Bell. Not to mention an important cause. How can you not see that?”

“Of course I see that. I saw that two weeks ago when you told me it was the last protest you were covering. Then I saw that last Saturday when you told me it was the last protest you were covering. Are you really going to tell me this is the last one? At this point you’re just lying to me.”

Clarke huffs, pulling on a plain gray long-sleeve shirt and running a hand through her shoulder-length waves. She looks like she’s trying as hard as he is to stay calm, but he can practically feel her annoyance radiating off her body. 

“How could I have predicted that the movement would keep momentum like it has?” she asks, voice softer than before. “I can’t just pause my career, I can’t just-”

“Nobody is asking you to put your career on hold! You just need to not put yourself in a position of danger while you're pregnant - I’m not sure why that seems to be asking too much.”

Clarke is an investigative journalist and reporter who’s spent the last two years covering the Tree Crew Movement. They’re an activist group with environmentalist and anti-corruption aims and are finally gaining momentum after Washington’s coverup of the water scandal in Polis was exposed. Masses of people took to the streets to protest and it seems like they’re finally getting somewhere. The people are demanding change and there’s finally enough support to make that change happen. If him and Clarke weren’t about to become parents, Bellamy would be in the streets with them. But that’s not their reality right now. 

“Clarke,” he starts, voice unusually firm. “People are getting hurt at these protests. I know you know that. You’ve  _ seen _ that, you’ve  _ reported _ on that.”

“The protesters aren’t dangerous, how could you-”

“You think I don’t know that?” he cuts her off, voice rising again. “It’s the protesters I’m worried about given the blatant police brutality. I’m aware of that, and that’s why I’m worried.”

“All the more reason we need reporters on scene - to expose that. I’m part of the media, I’ll have my press badge, I’ll be-”

“You are five months  _ pregnant _ ,” he nearly roars. “Do you realize that? We both know the media isn’t any more safe than the protesters.”

“Yeah, Bell. I’m not aware I’m pregnant, it’s only  _ my _ body carrying our baby.”

Bellamy runs a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his temple in frustration. When he looks up again, Clarke is sitting on the side of their bed, lacing up her boots. 

“Clarke, I have never asked - I’ve let you-”

“You’ve  _ let  _ me do what, Bellamy?” Clarke cuts him off, head snapping up and gazing angrily at him.

Bellamy shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Clarke stands and brushes past him on the way to their living room, grabbing her jacket from where it’s slung over one of their arm chairs.

“I’ll be home before midnight,” she tells him shortly, shrugging the jacket on. 

Bellamy only nods, clenching his jaw as she leaves their apartment, the door shutting harshly behind her. 

In the beginning, when the protests started two months ago, he watched the news coverage while Clarke was gone. He had been nervous, as he always is, but not necessarily scared. But then the police had grown more violent and unpredictable. The last couple weeks, even members of the media were being hit by rubber bullets and tear gas. Clarke insisted that she would leave if something like that happened, but they both knew there wasn’t a way to predict when something would happen. So now, he doesn’t watch any coverage. He only grabs a beer from the fridge and collapses onto the couch, fuming with anger over the recklessness of his incredibly stubborn wife. 

Bellamy has always known that Clarke is stubborn. Clarke Griffin does what she wants and gets what she wants - it’s something he’s always loved about her. He’s happily let her take the lead, always supported her ambitions and is incredibly proud of her. 

But things weren’t good lately, he thought, twisting his wedding band around his finger. It was the first time in their marriage - no, their relationship - where he was truly putting his foot down about something. The thought of something happening to Clarke was hard enough, but the thought of something happening to her and their baby was nearly driving him mad. They had the same fight over and over again since the protests started two months ago. It was the first time that their fights didn’t end with apologies and make up sex, forgotten the next morning. They went to bed with the argument paused, frustration with the other simmering under the surface. No decisions or conclusions were reached. For the first time since they got together, he was truly worried about what their future looked like. 

\--∞--

From the very first day of class, Bellamy knew that Clarke Griffin would be a problem. She was 20, taking Bellamy’s  _ Introduction to Classics _ course during her sophomore year spring semester. Bellamy, 29, was a teaching and pursuing his PhD. 

It wasn’t like he noticed Clarke right away. It wasn’t like a movie where he was immediately drawn to her presence the minute she walked into his classroom. No - Clarke Griffin  _ made _ her presence known in every instance possible. Clarke questioned his every lecture and raised her hand to challenge something he said multiple times a class. He didn’t miss how some of his other students rolled their eyes at her, clearly as exasperated as he was by the interruptions. 

Still, he couldn’t really resent her too much given that it was clear she was smart. Despite her argumentative comments and interruptions, she aced every test, every essay that he assigned. He still remembers entering her A grade on her final and clicking submit, feeling a sense of relief that she’d be moving on and out of his hair. Still, even then there was a conflicting sense of...something else. Admittedly, part of him would miss her. As disruptive as she was, he could admit that some of her questions were thought provoking and she even made a few good points that he hadn’t thought of. It was kind of nice to have someone that in engaged in his class. Bellamy hardly knew her, but he knew she’d go far. 

It was about three weeks later and Bellamy was drinking at a campus pub frequented by Arkadia University seniors and employees alike. Final exam grades were submitted, theses for his own program were complete and presented, and so his colleagues and him were celebrating now that most of the undergraduate student body had returned home for the summer.

Bellamy volunteered to get the next round for the table and made his way to the bar. It was packed and took him forever just to get to a space at the counter. He had just ordered his round when he heard a few people huffing and complaining behind him. Turning around, Clarke of all people, had pushed her way to the front and was now standing beside Bellamy. 

“You can’t just shove your way to the front,” some guy complained.

“Sorry, I’m with him,” Clarke said, nodding at Bellamy.

Bellamy raised his brow at that, feeling both amused and irritated, but she had already spun around to face the bar before even making eye contact with him. Bellamy followed suit. 

“You’re welcome?” he asked, trying his hardest to sound irritated. 

Instead, he was actually just distracted, his eyes sweeping over her as she handed what was probably a fake ID to the bartender and ordered three tequila shots and two vodka sodas. Maybe it’s because he already had a few drinks in him, but he let himself really look at her in a way he hadn’t while teaching her. She was wearing a pair of high-waisted jeans that still weren’t high enough to meet her back cropped tank top that looked more like a bralette. The jeans...well, they hugged her curves well. Her hair was in messy waves, curling a little at her sweaty temples. 

Once she handed over her card, she turned to face him. His cheeks flushed when she caught him already staring at her. 

“Hey, Mr. Blake,” she boldly greeted him, a smirk itching the corners of her lips.

“Clarke.” He tried his hardest to layer his tone with disappointment, but he knew it didn’t really stick.

“So you’re a pretty old sophomore, huh?” he added, trying to take the high ground back in whatever strange power play this was.

Clarke raised her eyebrows at him, as if she was surprised at the comment. 

“Indeed,” she agreed without missing a beat. 

Bellamy couldn’t help but let out a laugh. This girl had no shame, no fear.

“Having a good night?” she asked, raking her eyes over his body. 

“Could be better,” he found himself saying. It suddenly felt like a game, one he was only playing because of the alcohol in his system.

The bartender came back with both of their drink orders before Clarke had the time to respond. Clarke immediately slid one of the tequila shots over to him. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“For being my pass to the front of the line,” she explained. 

He watched her lick her hand, eyes never leaving his own, and sprinkle salt over it. It was only when she raised her eyebrows at him that he realized he was supposed to do the same. For whatever reason, he immediately obeyed. Only after they clinked their glasses together and took the shot did Clarke lean in closer to him, lips to his ears.

“Also, to lower your inhibitions,” she whispered in a low voice. To this day, he knows he felt his cock twitch at her words. “I’ll be waiting out front in an hour.”

Bellamy didn’t answer, just stared at the girl as she pushed her way back through the crowd while balancing her singular shot and two drinks. He didn’t move, watched her walk all the way back to where her friend was standing next to the live band that was playing on the other side of the pub. Swallowing thickly, he gathered his colleagues’ drinks and made his way back to his own table. 

Bellamy spent that entire hour agonizing over whether to meet her outside. He knew it sounded insane and at the time blamed it on the alcohol, but he couldn’t deny that he somehow felt a connection to her in a way he never had with anyone, despite barely knowing her. It was something he never admitted out loud, even six years later, even to Clarke. But he somehow knew, even then. So he parted ways with his coworkers, his heart racing as he made his way outside, half wondering if she was actually joking.

But there she was - standing on the street, scrolling through her phone with an almost bored expression on her face. She didn’t notice him approach her until he was standing in front of her, gently pulling her jaw up so that he could look into her eyes.

“Be honest with me - are you drunk?”

“I shouldn’t drive a car, but I can make sound decisions,” she answered confidently. 

Something about the way she responded, directly without any pouting, instilled confidence in him that she was fine. He let go of her and nodded towards the sidewalk. 

“We can walk,” he prompted.

So the two of them walked back to his place and somehow, although he was bewildered by it, it wasn’t awkward at all. He was able to confirm pretty confidently by the way she walked steadily on her black heels without his help and didn’t slur her words that she wasn’t too drunk. The whole way back, she initiated an innocent game of  _ I Spy _ . He couldn’t say anyone had ever tried to play that with him on the way to hook up with him. By the time they made it to his place fifteen minutes later, they were laughing casually like old friends. 

But then he unlocked the door to his apartment and it was like a flip was switched in them. Bellamy leaned in to kiss her, pushing her back against his front door, and immediately felt consumed by her presence. That was the kind of woman she was, he now knows. But despite what he knew of her from class and the bar, what surprised him was the way that she made it clear she wanted  _ him _ to be in control. It was something Bellamy enjoyed - being the dominant one in the bedroom - but not something he usually made clear the first time hooking up with someone. But Clarke was a woman who knew what she wanted - as evidenced by the fact she’d successfully made it to his bedroom. Clarke  _ always _ got what she wanted, something he discovered that night, and something proven time and time again over the next six years. 

The two of them fell through his bedroom door, tangled as one, hands all over the other and lips never parting. Clarke broke away from him, leaving Bellamy panting and desperate, and picked up a tie slung over his desk chair. She put the tie in his hands and leaned up to whisper into his ear.

“Mr. Blake-”

“Bellamy,” he corrected, voice already wrecked.

“ _ Bellamy _ . I want you to have your way with me.”

Clarke leaned back again, looking directly into his eyes with her own intense blue ones, clouded with lust.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered her in a firm voice. 

Clarke slowly stripped her clothing off, eyes never leaving his as she did. It took every ounce of control not to help her, to rip them off himself. And so their first night together, Bellamy tied her hands together with his neck tie and went down on her, making her come twice before she begged him to fuck her. Bellamy had untied her hands then, selfishly wanting her hands to be  _ everywhere _ on his body. He can still remember how it felt to be inside her that first night. He can still remember how their eyes locked while he fucked her until she was whimpering his name. 

Bellamy finished with a loud groan, his lips pressed against hers. Not quite in a kiss, but simply brushing against them. He thought about that strange connection he felt to her, how it only felt stronger. It was what he thought about when she was curled into his side that night. She didn’t ask if she could spend the night or try to draw out an offer from him like some women did. No - Clarke Griffin stayed because Clarke Griffin wanted to stay. She slept soundly in his arms, her bold intensity fading in favor of something more precious. Something he felt the instinct to protect, to worship, even then. Bellamy still remembers how the last thought that crossed his mind that night before he drifted off to sleep was that he had never felt so content in all his life.

When Bellamy woke the next morning, Clarke was still sleeping soundly. He quietly untangled himself from her, unable to help but brush a few frizzy blonde curls from her face. After throwing on his boxers and glasses, he padded to the kitchen to make coffee and grabbed the newspaper that was left outside his door. He knew it was strange to still read a physical newspaper, but Bellamy enjoyed it. So he sat down at his kitchen table with a mug of coffee and began to read the headlines, trying not to let his mind wander to the woman still sleeping in his bed. 

Not long after, Clarke emerged from his room. He expected her to be sheepish and he even worried that she might regret their hook up. It was certainly unexpected, at least on his part. Of course, later on, Bellamy would discover that there was a reason Clarke decided to make her presence known in his class. But he didn’t realize that at the time. 

But she certainly wasn’t shy. Clarke walked out confidently, blonde waves messy in the most sexy way possible, and wearing only his t-shirt from the night before with her navy lace underwear. 

“Morning,” he greeted her, pulling the paper away from his face. “I have coffee-”

He stopped talking when Clarke immediately walked over him and sat on his lap, back pressed to his chest. She picked up his mug, taking a long sip of his coffee, before demanding he flip to the  _ Politics _ section of the paper. Bellamy couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that point, feeling both amused and...and something like  _ giddy _ . He surrendered the paper to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she flipped through the paper.

\--∞--

Looking back, Bellamy supposes it was fitting that they spent their first morning together reading a newspaper. Stories were something they had instantly bonded over. Sure, they preferred different types of stories. Clarke wanted to be a journalist and was interested in any book or news article revolving around politics and international relations. Bellamy, on the other hand, was a history professor and preferred long non-fiction books on an array of historical topics, as well as journal articles about developments in the field. No matter, they spent a lot of time that first summer together reading their respective stories on Bellamy’s couch, Bellamy sitting on one side and Clarke laying on the other, her legs thrown over his lap.

As Bellamy discovered, Clarke had stayed in Arkadia that summer for an internship at the Arkadia Gazette. Almost instantly, without really talking about what it meant, they fell into a consistent routine. Clarke spent her days at her internship and Bellamy spent his days working on his book, trying to get as much done as possible before the school year started. Then, nearly every night, Clarke came over to his place. They ate, fucked, laughed, argued, watched movies, and read, never really talking about what they were. All Bellamy knew was that he was falling for her.

The start of the school year forced them to have a real conversation about their relationship. Bellamy had a whole speech prepared. He was going to tell her that he wanted to be with her, how much she meant to him, and that he wanted a relationship with her. He considered telling her that he loved her then, because he knew it with certainty, but he was afraid of scaring her off. Bellamy was nervous - Clarke was young, ambitious and beautiful. Maybe it was a simple summer fling for her and he was going to send her running. Still, he had to try.

To Bellamy’s surprise, Clarke cut him off mid-speech, as if impatient with his rambling. 

“Bellamy, I love you. I want to be with you.”

Clarke said it just like that. She had somehow chiseled down all of these complicated feelings he was trying to sort through into something simple. Per usual, Clarke knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for - no,  _ demand _ \- whatever that was. He could only be grateful that what she wanted was him. 

Bellamy shouldn’t have been surprised when their families’ and friends’ reactions to their relationship ranged from weary to angry, but it hurt him regardless. Clarke didn’t seem nearly as bothered by it, but by the time December rolled around, Bellamy was letting it get to his head. He knew that her roommate and best friend Raven wasn’t a fan of the situation and he had overheard the arguments Clarke had with her parents about him. The worst part was that he understood it. His own mother was clearly worried it wouldn’t end well. His sister Octavia, a freshman at another university, didn’t talk to him for over a month. 

“I can’t believe you’re dating your student!” Octavia had yelled at him in September. 

Even though he tried to explain nothing happened while she was his student and that she wasn’t his student anymore, it still made him feel terrible. By Christmas, his doubts had taken root in his subconscious, anchoring him to the idea that he was bad for Clarke. Clarke would be better off without him.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked. 

Bellamy was driving her to the airport two days before Christmas. She was flying home to Washington DC to spend her holiday break with her parents - parents who he knew she wasn’t on good terms with, mostly because of her relationship with him. Bellamy hadn’t said anything, but Clarke always read him too easily. 

Bellamy sighed, pulling over to the curb at the departures section. “We can’t do this anymore,” he started.

“Excuse me?” Clarke turned to him, expression both bewildered and defiant. 

“I’m not any good for you!” he nearly yelled, all of the stress of the last few months pouring out of him during that singular conversation. “You’re fighting with your parents, your friendships are strained, and it’s because of me. You don’t - you deserve better, Clarke.”

Clarke clenched her jaw, saying nothing as she stared at him for a moment.

“No.” Her voice was confident, unwavering. 

“No?” he echoed. He couldn’t remember a woman ever responding with  _ no _ when he broke up with her. 

“I said no. Do you still love me?”

Bellamy sighed. “Clarke-”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do,” he told her immediately, unable to lie to her.

“Well, then I said no. How many times have you told me that you love how determined I am? How I don’t give up, how I fight for what I want? Well, you’re what I want. I’m not giving up, so you’re not allowed to either.”

Bellamy looked at her for a moment, somehow loving her even more than he did a moment ago.

“Okay?” she asked when he said nothing, clearly frustrated with him.

“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling her closer so that he could kiss her senseless before he had to let her go for a week.

\--∞--

Bellamy proposed to Clarke a year and a half later, just a few days after she graduated. Over that year and half, their friends and family had begrudgingly come to accept the relationship. Bellamy even received her parents’ blessing before he proposed. He knew it was only symbolic and Clarke scoffed at the idea, declaring he didn’t need anyone’s blessing but hers, but Bellamy felt like it was a final step in gaining the Griffins’ approval.

Two months after Clarke graduated, she got an offer to work for the Washington Post. She was ecstatic at the opportunity and her parents were ecstatic at the prospect of her moving home, so the two of them packed up their lives and moved across the country together. Bellamy ended up with a teaching position at Georgetown University, in part because of the success of his first book. A year later, they married at a vineyard in Virginia. 

The thing was, Bellamy knew since the day he got down on one knee that he was going to be playing Clarke’s game for the rest of their lives. He was more than okay with it. Bellamy knew exactly who Clarke was when he asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. He loved her for who she was - someone who liked to be in control and someone with a lot of passion and ambition. Beyond the bedroom, Bellamy was more than happy to let Clarke run the show. His wife continued to challenge him and thrill him everyday.

Because Clarke was a planner with a lot of ambition, they agreed early on that they would hold off on having kids until Clarke turned 30. Being nine years older than her, it was on the later side for him, but Bellamy didn’t mind. He knew that she wanted kids like he did, which was the important part. The last thing he wanted to do was rush Clarke or hold her back.

But the problem was, things didn’t always go according to plan. Bellamy was 35, his wife 26, when Octavia got married. Unsurprisingly, Octavia’s wedding turned into quite a party, to say the least. Bellamy and Clarke got a little too drunk and didn’t make it to their bedroom that night before Bellamy took Clarke in his arms, fucking her against the hallway wall as she panted and moaned his name.

Six weeks later, Clarke walked into their bedroom while he was reading. She sat down on the bed silently and when he looked up at her, the shell-shocked expression on her face scared him. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, setting his book aside.

Clarke had started rambling, tears pricking her eyes. She was saying something about missing pills and Octavia’s wedding night and it took him longer than it should have to recognize what she was trying to tell him.

“You’re pregnant?”

Clarke nodded, eyes wide. 

Once the initial shock wore off, they were both excited. Clarke was scared because anything that wasn’t part of the  _ plan _ tended to set her off. But per usual, Bellamy was there to catch her and promised that as long as she was sure she wanted to have the baby, they could handle it together like they handled everything else. Despite her initial fear, Clarke was adamant from the beginning that she wanted the baby. So together, they made a new plan.

Bellamy would take a year off after the baby was born and stay home with them, working on his second book when he could. Clarke would work as long as she could and return to work after two months of maternity leave, although part of Bellamy doubted she would last even two months. They were both on board with this new plan, and more than anything, they were incredibly excited to become parents. But that was before - before the protests started and Clarke’s job started putting her in danger. 

\--∞--

Bellamy rises from the couch, bringing his empty beer bottle to the sink to rinse out. Against his better judgement, he turns on the news for a moment to watch some of the protest footage. Shaking his head at the footage of New York protesters being tear gassed, he immediately turns it off again and goes to take a shower. He doesn’t know what to do other than sit around and stress over her.

If he’s being honest, Bellamy is nearly as afraid for his marriage as he is for Clarke’s safety. They haven’t had sex in over a month, and if Bellamy thought that was simply because of the pregnancy instead of the horrible tension that now constantly existed between them, then he would be okay with it. But they just aren’t...well, they aren’t Bellamy and Clarke right now. They aren’t on the same page and for the first time in their relationship, Bellamy is putting his foot down because of it.

Bellamy glances at his phone once he gets out of the shower, noting that it’s nearly 11:30pm. He wishes he weren’t pretty much expecting Clarke  _ not _ to be home by midnight, given that her word didn’t seem to mean much these days. Bellamy has just pulled on a clean pair of boxers and is pulling out an undershirt to throw on when his phone rings. Despite that he knows it’s probably Clarke calling to tell him that she’ll be home late, his heart restricts at the sound, his mind already spiraling towards something bad. Then he sees that it’s an unknown number, and his anxiety increases tenfold. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Bellamy Blake?” a woman asks. He doesn’t recognize her voice.

Bellamy swallows thickly, a horrible feeling already forming in the pit of his stomach. 

“It is.”

“Mr. Blake, this is the George Washington University Hospital. You were listed as your wife’s emergency contact, she was admitted tonight with a head injury.”

\--∞--

Bellamy thought that his mind would be racing as he drove to the hospital. Instead, a sort of quiet falls over him. His mind empties and he’s eerily calm in a way that nearly scares him. The protests make it so that it takes him nearly twice as long as it should to get to the hospital, and it’s only after he parks his car and makes his way inside that the panic starts to settle over him. Bellamy’s hands are shaking by the time he makes it to the reception desk.

“My wife,” he stutters. “Clarke Blake.”

Professionally, in all her published articles and on the banner that ran across the bottom of the television screen, she was Clarke Griffin. Legally, she had changed it. 

_ “You don’t have to change it if you don’t want to,” he had told her. _

_ “I want to,” she insisted, before smiling mischievously. “I want to be yours,” she whispered in his ear, climbing onto his lap and pressing her lips against his. _

Bellamy drums his fingers on the counter as the receptionist checks her records. He’s sure he’s probably irritating her, but he can hardly help himself. A moment later, she calls a nurse over and asks her to bring Bellamy to Clarke.

The woman on the phone had assured Bellamy that Clarke was awake and coherent, but that doesn’t make him feel any better. He has to see her. Clenching and unclenching his fist several times as the nurse leads him down a series of hallways, he tries to keep his breathing steady. Finally, they arrive at a small room with an open door. 

Clarke is sitting on the hospital bed, still dressed in her normal clothing. She’s staring down at her bump, hand running over it, when he walks in. But as soon as he does, her head pops up to face him. She has a bruise - a welt - on her temple. 

“Clarke,” he breathes, rushing to her side. 

Bellamy takes her face in his hands, turning it gently to examine her head.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, but Bellamy can hear how her voice cracks. 

Clarke isn’t one to surrender to her emotions easily. Without another word, he wraps her into his arms, lips pressed to her head. Clarke buries her head into the crook of his neck and releases a sob. Bellamy only rocks her for a moment, murmuring reassurances into her ear, before finally breaking away a few minutes later when her breathing begins to steady.

“Hey,” he whispers. He holds her face again, gently swiping away a few stray tears with his thumbs. “You’re okay.”

Clarke nods. “The baby’s okay, they did an ultrasound,” she tells him, voice choked.

“Okay, that’s good,” Bellamy tells her, trying to remain calm. His hand moves to rest over her bump and he nearly jumps when the gesture causes her to burst into tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says gently. “You’re okay.”

Clarke shakes her head, although the tears keep coming. “I thought you’d be so mad at me. You should hate me.”

Bellamy furrows his brow at that, bewildered by her reaction. “What?”

“You told me not to go and I put our baby’s life in danger,” she babbles, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Bellamy hushes her. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re safe, baby. That’s all that matters.”

Clarke nods weakly. “They did an ultrasound, everything’s okay,” she says again, as if to reassure herself. 

“Okay,” Bellamy nods. He kisses the top of her head once more before tilting it to examine the welt.

“I tried to show them my press badge,” she explains. 

“Rubber bullet?”

Clarke nods.

“Did they clear you to come home?”

She nods again.

“Okay, let’s get you home,” he tells her, grabbing her jacket from the chair and helping her into it. 

Bellamy holds her hand the entire way out, not letting her go even when signing the discharge papers. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind, only leans into him further, which worries him even more. Their drive home is quiet, neither saying anything, but Bellamy keeps his hand on her thigh and Clarke moves her own hand to rest over his.

Once they’re back in their apartment, Clarke tells him she’s going to take a shower. He nods, stripping off his jeans and t-shirt and collapsing back onto their bed, head spinning.

_ What if the rubber bullet hit her eye, blinding her? _

_ What if the rubber bullet hit her stomach? _

Clarke comes out about fifteen minutes later, wrapped in a towel. She changes into a pair of underwear and one of Bellamy’s old t-shirts. His chest feels tight as the memory of Clarke emerging from his bedroom that first night together washes over him.

“C’mere,” he tells her, as she’s hanging her towel on the back of their bathroom door.

Clarke looks over at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Still, she listens, coming to lay beside him on their bed. Bellamy turns on his side to face her, his hand trailing under his t-shirt to rest on her small but defined bump.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs.

Bellamy doesn’t expect her face to crumple again, tearing pricking her eyes.

“I’m going to be a terrible mother.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tells, pulling her closer so that her bump is pressed against his own stomach. “You’re going to be an incredible mom, honey. You’re going to show our kid what it means to fight for the important things in life.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Bellamy nods. He’s too worried, too grateful she’s okay, to be angry with her. But it’s nice to hear anyways.

“I should have listened to you,” she continues. “I got so caught up...I- I think this hasn’t felt real yet. It sounds horrible, but with this being a surprise and then the intensity of the protests and everything going on, I never really processed all of it. But all I could think on the way to the hospital was that I put our baby’s life in danger, and that you would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself if something had happened to them.”

Bellamy sighs, moving his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I know this wasn’t part of the plan. But neither was I, and that turned out pretty well.”

Clarke lets out a watery laugh. “True, I figured I would marry like a doctor...a lawyer, maybe.”

“Hey,” he laughs, moving closer so that he can rest his forehead against hers. 

“I don’t want you to think I have regrets,” she whispers. “I want this baby so much, I just didn’t - I haven’t been thinking straight. But I am now, and I hear you.” Clarke lets out a humorless laugh. “You’ve put up with so much from me. I know I can be thick-headed, and stubborn, and-”

Bellamy’s kiss cuts her off, lips firm against hers. Reluctantly, he pulls away. “I’ve loved every adventure you’ve pulled me along for,” he promises. “I just want you and our baby safe. That’s all I wanted.”

“I know.” Their faces are still only a few inches apart and he can feel the heat of her breath. “I understand. I’ll be more careful - no more protests until the baby is born,” she promises. “And also - I’m going to try harder to listen. I love you so much, I value your opinion so much. I’m sorry if it hasn’t seemed that way recently.”

Bellamy nods, unable to help himself from kissing her again. “I love you too, baby - and I appreciate that.”

Clarke sighs, seemingly relieved. “Bell?”

“Hmm?” he hums, hand moving over her bump again.

“I want you.”

Bellamy can’t help but smirk. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Clarke laughs, already pulling him closer. 

“And you always get what you want, don’t you?”

Clarke nods fervently. “Always.”

Bellamy moves to climb over her, helping her to pull his t-shirt off of her. “But you’re going to be a good girl for me, right?”

She nods so enthusiastically that Bellamy nearly laughs, but he leans down to kiss her instead. His hands roam up the sides of her waist until they land on her breasts and Clarke moans into his mouth.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against her lips. 

“Please,” she whimpers. 

Bellamy continues kissing her, her mouth opening eagerly to take his tongue. There’s nothing in the world like the taste of his wife. She drives him crazy. Bellamy grinds against her center, already completely hard. It’s been so long since he’s had her. 

Clarke’s hand move down his sides until they reach the band of his boxers. She begins to pull at them, but he grabs at her hands, holding them above her with one of his. “I thought I told you to be good,” he growls, pressing a harsh kiss to the crook of her neck.

“I need you,” she whines.

“I know, baby. I’m gonna give you what you need.”

Bellamy lets go of her to pull her lace panties off. He’s too keyed up to drag this out much longer and slips out of his boxers as quickly as he can manage. Clarke immediately reaches for him, looking up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Please?” she asks, her hand already on his length.

Bellamy nods, biting down on his lip as his wife starts stroking him. Her touch is so familiar to him, and yet it feels new and exciting every time. As she works him, Bellamy runs his finger up her slit before pressing down firmly on her clit, finding her already soaked. Clarke falters, her hand pausing as she whimpers. Bellamy doesn’t let up, immediately pressing two fingers into her and curling them like she likes. After all these years, he knows his wife’s body like the back of his hand. 

“Bell, I need you inside of me,” she tells him.

Bellamy leans down to kiss her, his fingers never letting up. He knows exactly what she means, but he can’t help but tease her. “I am inside of you, sweetheart.”

“Please. Please fuck me. Please,” she begs. 

Bellamy doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t been inside her in what feels like an eternity or because her voice sounds so much more desperate than usual, but he immediately obeys. Within the next second, he’s lining himself up against her entrance, forehead pressed against hers.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” she tells him, leaning up to kiss him. 

Bellamy pushes into her, lips still on hers and his hand moving across her bump between them. Clarke moans, fingers threading through his curls, but he doesn’t stop until he’s buried inside of her. Bellamy closes his eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the simple but pure joy that is being inside of his wife. 

“You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs as he begins to move. 

“Yes, Bell,” she gasps.

Bellamy thrusts into her steadily, already beginning to feel her clench around him. Between her pregnancy hormones and not having him in over a month, he knows she won’t last very long. Which is a good thing, because he knows he won’t either.

“Yes, please. Fuck - yes, yes.”

“So good to me, carrying our child,” Bellamy whispers in her ear. Clarke immediately moans at his words. 

“Bell,” she gasps.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages her, thrusting into her harder. “Let go for me.”

“ _ Bell _ ,” she cries, clenching hard around him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. One hand moves to interlace with her fingers, the other grabs at her hair as he thrusts into her faster. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

“Come in me, Bell,” she says breathlessly. 

Bellamy groans loudly, burying his face in her neck. He does his best not to collapse on her, ever aware of their baby between them. 

“I love you,” he tells her once his breath steadies. He can’t remember the last time his heart felt so full. 

Bellamy feels her small hand stroking up and down his freckled back. 

“I love you too,” she responds, sounding completely wrecked. “So much.”

Sooner than he usually would, Bellamy pulls out of her, too tired to hold himself up much longer. He pulls his wife against him, her back to his chest, both of them clammy. His hand rests on her bump, gently moving across it.

“I have something to tell you,” she says quietly, after a few minutes of them laying in silence. 

“Yeah?” Bellamy presses a kiss to her head, careful to avoid her already bruising temple. 

“The doctor that did the ultrasound tonight didn’t know we didn’t know the sex…”

Bellamy feels his heart race, except this time with excitement. He rolls Clarke over so that she’s on her back, looking up at him with a wide smile on her face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, unable to keep the huge grin from his face.

“We’re having a girl,” she tells him, her own smile reflecting his.

“A girl?”

“Uh huh,” she laughs. “A daughter.”

Bellamy doesn’t have words for the emotions that run through him, so he simply leans down to kiss his wife, hands exploring her body. 

_ A daughter _ , he thinks. 

Bellamy doesn’t move far when he finally comes up for air, his face only a few inches above her.

“So I better get used to two women bossing me around then, huh?” 

Clarke laughs loudly, pulling him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I matched this prompt submitter's donation by donating to [Homeless Black Trans Women Fund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/homeless-black-trans-women-fund).


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